


gets the better of me sometimes

by labellementeuse



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: 2008 Campaign Era (Crooked Media RPF), M/M, White House Era (Crooked Media RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-12 09:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellementeuse/pseuds/labellementeuse
Summary: The guy leaning against the bar is nervous, even though he's good-looking enough to have his pick of guys in this place and, unlike Lovett, he obviously changed into new, bar-appropriate clothes before he came out here. He's clean-shaven, he's wearing a collared shirt buttoned high enough to be a tease, and he's looking at Lovett, and smiling, tentatively.OR: Jon and Lovett hook up during the 2008 campaign without knowing who the other guy is. Then they find out.





	gets the better of me sometimes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [retweet_this](https://archiveofourown.org/users/retweet_this/gifts).



> retweet_this, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it - it was really fun to revisit their relationship before it was set in stone. Happy exchange!
> 
> Title from Bic Runga - Sway. A million thank-yous to celli for being the best audiencer a girl could ask for, and to mermaid for her usual meticulous, thoughtful, and kind beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.

At 7 in the evening Tommy leans over Favs' cube wall in the makeshift offices they've set up in Des Moines and says, "You coming out tonight? We're gonna hit up the bars."

Favs feels his palms prickle with sweat. "Nah," he says, easily as he can, "I'm beat." It's not hard to look it, because he's not exactly lying.

"Come on, man," Tommy says. "It's our first night off in a month and Alyssa says she knows a place that does great giant cocktails. I know how much you love them."

Favs bites his lip, grins up at Tommy. It's tempting. It would be ... easy.

"And it's also been a million years since you got laid," Tommy says, and Favs feels his smile slip a little. "You know you want to."

Favs steels himself and shakes his head. "You get outta here," he says. "I'm wiped. I'm just gonna finish these remarks and head back to the hotel."

"Okay, man." Tommy pats him on the shoulder, warm. "Get some rest, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, Mom," Favs says, waving him off. A bit of shame curls in his gut at the lie, but Tommy doesn't seem to notice, and in short order Alyssa comes by, hustling just about everyone else out of the crowded space in between arguing with Dan about basketball.

It's quiet when they're gone. Favs works a little more, just to be sure he'll miss them on the train, polishing a couple sets of remarks for the Senator for the next day and making notes for the debate that evening. Eventually, though, he gets sick of himself. He sends everything off to Dan for review and closes his laptop emphatically.

Most people are gone by 8 on a Friday off, probably the last night they'll have free for months. He waves at the few remaining people, hops the train back to the hotel, and showers and shaves, trying hard not to think about what he's doing. He's successful enough at this that it's not until he's in a taxi heading to the bar - the gay bar that he looked up, quietly, in an incognito browser window - that his stomach starts roiling.

*  


"No," Lovett says, laughing but still getting up from where he's been slumped in the booth for the last hour, drinking beer and watching his straight colleagues flirt with each other. "No! Shut up. I'm not going to stay here and watch these blatant displays of heterosexuality. This could be the last time we're in a city big enough to have gay bars for months," he says, mock-seriously. "I have to seize the day."

"Seize the dick," Billy says.

He's trying to be funny, not be an asshole, so Lovett just says, "Exactly," wriggling his way out. "Have fun, try not to get anyone pregnant," he adds, and he ducks away to a chorus of boos.

Getting into a cab, he does a brief self-assessment. Friday jeans, fine, t-shirt - he gives his underarms a cursory sniff, ignoring the judgmental gaze of his driver in the rearview mirror - fine. Whatever, he is what he is, and how high can the standards be in Des Moines, anyway? And if they're too high, he tells himself, well, he could use an early night anyway.

He regrets it a little bit when he gets to the bar and sees the guy slouching against it. He's taller than Lovett, and slender (lanky, he thinks, rebelliously, and it's not like it's hard to be taller than him) and when the bartender goes to refill his drink Lovett sees him flash a stunning, gap-toothed smile.

The guy takes a big gulp of his drink. He's nervous, Lovett thinks, which is bizarre, because he's good-looking enough to have his pick of guys in this place and, unlike Lovett, he obviously changed before he came out here. He's clean-shaven, he's wearing a collared shirt buttoned high enough to be a tease, and he's - looking at Lovett, and smiling, tentatively. 

Really? Lovett thinks, barely managing to keep from glancing down at himself and back at the guy, incredulous. But - this is what you're here for, isn't it, Jon? - he's not going to turn that down. So he bellies up to the bar next to the guy, orders a beer, and then turns to him and says, "I'm guessing you don't come here often."

"It's that obvious?" the guy says, palming his neck.

"Just to someone paying attention to how fast you're getting through that drink," Lovett says. The guy blushes; Lovett watches, fascinated, as the blush highlights his cheekbones.

"It's been a long week," the guy says, ducking his head. "Actually, a long - well, never mind. I'm Jon, by the way," he says.

"Huh," Lovett says.

"Is ... that a problem?" the guy - Jon - says.

"Yes," Lovett says, "I've got a deathly prejudice against men called Jon. Makes me think of two different bosses, and nobody wants that in the bedroom. Well, I guess some people -"

Jon laughs, honestly more than the weak joke deserves, but it's frankly heady, watching him crack up. Lovett wants to see it again. "Really?" Jon asks.

"No," Lovett says. "Well, yes about the bosses, but no prejudice. Uh, my name's actually Jon too. No 'h'," he adds, as an afterthought.

"Oh. Yeah, me too. Wow," Jon says, and now he looks taken aback.

"Didn't they warn you about this possibility when they gave you your gay card?" Lovett says, taking his drink from the bartender and passing over his credit card. "Two men, same name - probably there are hundreds of guys named Jon, with or without an 'h', fucking each other tonight all over the world."

Jon laughs again, but goes from pink to red. "Uh, no, they didn't - uh." He takes a big gulp of his drink, puts it down firmly on the bar. "I'm not very experienced. With men," he says, and meets Lovett's eyes, looking cautious. "Is that a problem for you?"

Lovett purses his lips. "Are you a Republican?"

"What? No!" Jon looks kind of offended but still amused; it's the perfect combo of convincing and still making Lovett feel clever and attractive. 

"Then we're fine," Lovett says, waving a hand. "Look, I have no problem walking anyone through the glories of sex with men - ask me about being gay, honestly - but I refuse to do it for Republicans."

Jon's laughing again, eyes crinkling up. "Jon," he says, when he's stopped laughing. "I faithfully promise I am not a Republican. Far, far from it."

*

Doesn't-fuck-Republicans Jon is cute, and funny, and smart, and Favs is surprised by how much talking to him is like talking to Tommy or Dan, except he ends up laughing more. After one drink, Favs orders a second round, and they duck through the growing crowd to a table in the corner where they can still hear each other. They get into it about what a disaster the healthcare system is and the worst thing Rush Limbaugh's said recently, and Jon goes on a tear about the weather that makes Favs laugh until he tears up. It's so completely normal - so unlike his one earlier brief interaction with a guy, just before Jon showed up, which ended with Favs embarrassing himself with a ham-handed compliment - that Favs feels himself relaxing out of date mode, until he clocks Jon giving him a once-over and feels a zing of lust. Which is not at all how he feels when he hangs out with Dan. 

Emboldened, he waits till Jon's finished his drink and says, "Hey, do you wanna get out of here?" He tries for easy, level tones, like it's not a big deal, like he does this all the time - which he does, he reminds himself, with women. He becomes aware he's worrying his lip with his teeth, and stops, and attempts a smile.

"Yeah," Jon says. "We can. But, like - we don't have to, if you don't want to. I'm like the first person you saw in here, it's your first time, you should, you know, play the field."

"No, you're not, and I want to - with you," Favs says, one hundred percent sure all of a sudden, and he reaches out to cup Jon's face in one hand. He leans forward, telegraphing what he's doing, so Jon will have time to move; instead Jon leans up over the table and meets him half-way.

It's tentative, at first. Favs doesn't know why he expected kissing a guy to be different, but then he gets himself together to deepen the kiss, tilting Jon's face up, and it _is_ different, just a little: the scrape of stubble, the strength in Jon's hand where it's come up to grip his shoulder. Favs breaks the kiss, but can't quite pull away until he's pressed another kiss, brief, into Jon's mouth, and then another.

"I really want to go home with you," he says, watching Jon's eyes flicker open. "If you're interested," he adds, suddenly realising - "I mean, if you're not into it, me, that's fine, you know, like -"

"Uh, I'm interested," Jon says, cutting him off. "It's insane that you think I wouldn't be interested."

Favs feels himself blush. "I mean - good?"

"Let's just get you out of here before you notice the hotter guys in here," Jon tells him, and takes his hand to drag him out.

*

Lovett gets Jon in a cab and follows right after, giving the driver directions to his hotel. "I figured my place -" he says, belatedly, but maybe Jon would rather be at home instead of in Lovett's crappy hotel room. "But maybe you'd rather -"

"Your place is good," Jon tells him, and leans in to kiss him again. For a guy as nervous as he was at the beginning of the night, he's not shy; Lovett kisses back for a while then pushes him away.

"You've gotta give me a break," he says, "I don't want to embarrass myself getting out of the car."

Jon's face crinkles up in a smile; he looks pink and pleased, and he stays that way, ducking his head, but glancing over at Lovett from time to time, right through Lovett paying the driver and sneaking into the elevator and crossing his fingers he doesn't see one of his perfectly-nice-but-right-now-useless-for-his-purposes colleagues.

They make it into Lovett's room with no unfortunate awkward incidents, and Jon, with flattering speed, pulls Lovett into another one of those unexpectedly deep kisses, hands cupping Lovett's face. It's a smooth move, and Lovett gives into it for a while before remembering that Jon is, quote, "not very experienced" with men and he's probably got to be the one who gets things moving.

"Okay," he says, when he can manage to pull away. "Let's - can I take off your shirt?" 

"You don't have to be _that_ careful with me," Jon says, smiling at him, and peels out of his shirt and - okay, cool, this is fine - his pants. He's … really gorgeous. Lovett gets stuck staring for a moment: long limbs, tan skin going faintly pink as Lovett watches him. 

"Now you," Jon prompts, and Lovett shakes himself. 

"Right," he says, and shucks his own shirt and pants briskly before walking straight into Jon and pushing him back towards the bed. Jon lets himself be pushed, falls back easily onto the bed, and leans up to kiss Lovett some more. 

They make out. It's honestly really nice. Jon is hot beneath him, giving clinging kisses and dragging his hands down Lovett's back, tucking his fingers into the waistband of Lovett's boxers. Lovett strokes Jon's sides, grips his thigh, gets as much of a grope of his ass as he can with Jon lying on his back and grins at the noise Jon makes. They're both hard, and Lovett sits back to roll his hips down into Jon's and listens with satisfaction to Jon's moan. 

"Not that this isn't great," Jon says, after a while, "but I was kind of hoping we could do something a bit more … ambitious."

"Hmm," Lovett says, and reaches down to fondle Jon's dick through his briefs. "More ambitious like me blowing you? You fucking me?"

"Actually, uh." Jon has to cough to clear his throat. "I thought maybe you could fuck me. Um. If you do that sort of thing." 

Lovett feels his eyebrows go up, faintly incredulous. "If I - yes, Jon," he tells him. "When a beautiful guy asks me to fuck him, I absolutely do that kind of thing. In fact," he goes on, warming to his theme, "I can assure you that a whole lot of guys who do not always do that kind of thing would reconsider when you ask them looking like - that," and he gestures to Jon, spread out before him, flushed and edible, laughing and throwing an arm over his face. 

"Okay, okay," Jon says. "I mean, good. I mean, thank you?"

"Stop talking now," Lovett tells him, kindly, and rolls off him to go fumbling in his suitcase for lube and a condom. 

*

Afterwards, Favs comes back to himself slowly, lying on the bed with Jon's compact, warm, heavy body pressing him into the mattress. He should probably feel embarrassed, or something, by the way he has both arms wrapped around Jon, by how he's shaking a little, or by the way he teared up towards the end from feeling Jon in him, and around him, and pressing a kiss to his knee. He can't bring himself to be embarrassed, though. Maybe that's because of the way Jon's stroking one hand gently down his flank, soothing him, or maybe it's because of how Jon looked at him as he pushed inside, gentle, wondering. 

Eventually, Jon sighs and rolls off him, dealing with the condom and flicking it into the trash before rolling back. He butts his head up against Favs' arm until he moves it enough that Jon can duck under it and rest his head on Favs' chest. Favs presses his mouth to Jon's hair, which is damp and curling with sweat. "That was …" he can't quite articulate it. "I really …"

Jon seems to get it, though. "Yeah," he says, and snuggles in a little. "Do you have to go, or can you - wanna get breakfast?"

"Fuck," Favs says, the weight of responsibility sinking back down onto him. "I wish I could," he says. "I really - I mean, I can stay a little while, but not. Yeah." 

"That's okay," Jon says, and Favs can feel him shrugging. It's not believable. Favs suspects Jon would be a shitty poker player. 

"Hey, no," Favs says, and rolls over so he can look Jon in the eye. "I would really like to stay," he says, putting as much of what he's feeling into his voice as he can, hoping Jon sees how sincere he is. "Actually - where's your phone? Give me your phone."

"Okay, psycho," Jon says, but he wriggles over to where he can grab his jeans by dangling off the bed, digs around in them and comes up with a flip phone he chucks at Favs. 

Favs catches it without effort, clicks into Contacts and enters his number with a flourish before tossing it back to Jon. "Call me. Please? I don't know when I'll be back in town but - I really liked this," he says, and rolls over until he can kiss Jon again. "I'd really like to take you out," he says, close to Jon's ear. 

Jon ducks his head away, but not before Favs can see how pleased he looks. "Well," Jon says, "we'll see. I guess you'll just have to wait and find out." 

Favs has a good feeling, though. 

* 

The next morning Lovett wakes up feeling ... weird. He tests the feeling out as he showers and shaves, turning it over in his mind until he identifies it as cautious optimism and the first faint stirrings of a crush. He tries to shrug it off, unsuccessfully, as he jams shoes on his feet, but ends up heading down to the hotel conference space the writing staff is using as a base of operations with a frankly uncharacteristic spring in his step.

"Wow, look at you," Karen says, as he rolls in. "You look practically awake."

"I am awake, Karen," Lovett says, lofty. "I am, as usual, wide awake and onto it and ready to be a productive member of the team."

"Sounds _just_ like you," she says, and Lovett gives her the finger. But he is in a good mood, and it sticks around for the entire day, letting him make fun of Billy at lunchtime without getting too mean and polish the Senator's remarks for the evening with Josh without breaking a sweat. When he starts losing his temper he stops, entertains a brief fantasy about sucking Jon's dick or plans out what he's going to say when he calls Jon tonight. He keeps finding himself smiling and having to make himself stop.

He's still feeling good when they pack up at the office and pile into vans to go to the evening's debate venue, a big hotel ballroom on the other side of town. He knows the Senator is prepared and he feels good about the jokes, they're solid. She'll never be the orator Obama is, he thinks, as they pack out and into the ballroom, but, loyally, that's such a misogynistic requirement when what really matters is that she knows policy backwards and forwards, and she's experienced, and -

\- his good mood comes stuttering to a stop when he sees Jon, across the ballroom, deep in conversation with Barack Obama. He's in a badly fitting suit, holding papers in one hand and gesturing over them, brow furrowed, but he's still recognisably the super hot guy from the bar last night.

"Hey," Josh says, swinging a box into him. "Keep moving, will ya?"

"Uh. Yeah," Lovett says, snapping back into it. "Sorry," he says, and takes the box.

"Are you OK? You look like you've seen a ghost," Josh says.

"What? No, I'm fine," Lovett says, brusque. "Hey, who's that guy - over there? The one -" yikes, Lovett thinks, he really is heterosexual - "The Obama bro with the buzzcut. Talking to the tall blond guy." 

Lovett watches, disbelieving, as the blond guy slings an arm around Jon, shakes him a bit, and shoves him away. Jon's laughing up at him, almost glowing with it, the epitome of bro. Duh, Lovett thinks, you were never going to be the only person to make him laugh, but he thought - there was something -

Josh squints at the other side of the room. "Um, are you asking me who Jon Favreau is?"

"What?!" Lovett says, and then moderates his tone. "That's _Jon Favreau_?"

"Yeah, dude. Shouldn't you know who he is? Know thy enemy, et cetera, et cetera."

"We respect the Obama campaign very much," Lovett says, rote response, in case there's a journalist hiding somewhere. "I know who Jon Favreau is, obviously, I just ... didn't realise that was him."

"Yeah, sucks that he's both talented and good-looking, right?" Josh says. "But we're going to take them to the cleaners. Respectfully."

"Right," Lovett says, and hefts his box away, feeling sick.

 

The debate is awful. It would be anyway: the candidates get mean, pointlessly so, destructively so, and Lovett's jokes bomb, and nobody comes away feeling good. But it's especially awful when Lovett spends the entire thing dodging Obama staffers, trying to avoid being seen by Jon, or, really, anyone who knows Jon, who might say something like, "You know that short guy with the dark hair you fucked last night? Turns out he's totally a Clinton staffer." 

Later that night he lies on his hotel bed and stares at Jon's number in his phone. He keeps thinking about seeing Jon, gorgeous, golden, laughing with the other Obama bros, frowning intently at work. No wonder Jon laughed when Lovett asked if he was a Republican, he thinks. Should have asked more, Lovett. Should have asked if he worked in politics, should have asked who he was voting for in the primary, should have - should have - should have not taken a stranger home, not fucked him, not let himself be kissed the way Jon had kissed him.

"Fuck," Lovett says, and sits up in bed, disgusted with himself. Face facts, he tells himself. Jon works for Barack Obama. Doesn't just work for him - is his mindreader, of all the pretentious bullshit. So they're mortal enemies right now. And furthermore, Lovett tells himself, Jon is straight.

His mind presents a vivid memory of Jon, the night before, panting as he clenched down on Lovett's fingers.

All right, fine, bicurious. But it's not like Jon Favreau, Senate darling, noted bro - Lovett has personally heard at least three stories of Jon Favreau's heterosexual exploits during this very campaign - is suddenly going to start dating a guy, no matter how sincere he seemed last night. Lovett could call him, and maybe they could fuck again, but it would be secret, and shameful, and it's not like Lovett could ever really trust him, so. 

_You've fucked without feelings before,_ his brain reminds him, and he has, but. If Lovett is completely honest with himself, he's not sure he can do that after last night, after the good feelings he's had all day.

No. Better just to - not.

Lovett deletes Jon's number, rolls over, puts his pillow over his head, and tries to sleep.

*

Favs is completely sure Jon's going to call him. He's so happy going into work the next morning that Tommy raises his nearly-invisible eyebrows at him and tells him the night off did him some good. Favs just grins at him, but he's, apparently, obvious, because when Favs finishes going over some notes with the Senator, Tommy immediately drags him off to one side and crows, "You did go out and get laid!"

Favs shoves him. "Shut up," he says, though he knows he's grinning like an idiot.

"Oh, man - so who's the lucky girl?"

"No girl," Favs says, as breezily as he can. He feels a twinge of guilt, but squashes it down. When Jon calls - when they've gone on a few more dates, or, actually, any dates - he'll tell Tommy, for sure. But for now it feels good to keep it to himself. He tucks the feeling away and keeps it with him on his flight back to DC that evening; even the flight feels better than usual.

He stays sure for the rest of that week, because he knows he'd connected with Jon. It wasn't just the intensity of sex with a guy for the first time - there was something special there, Favs knows it. And he might not be experienced with guys but he knows when someone is into him, and Jon was, he definitely was. So Jon's busy or something, doesn't want to look too keen, but he will call. Favs isn't worried.

After one week's passed Favs has started telling himself that something really serious must have come up for Jon, like a crisis at work, or - feeling faintly guilty - family sickness, something like that, something that's completely distracting. But when Jon has a moment, when he gets through it, he's going to call.

It's after two weeks that Favs starts feeling like an idiot. The campaign is heating up, they're running hot and they're going to beat Hillary, the Senator is going to be the nominee, so he's happy, he's working hard, everyone is buzzing, but. When he gets a moment to himself, he can admit to himself that he's ... bummed. He'd really thought - he'd really felt - but whatever, he tells himself. It's fine. He misread the situation. He was tired, stressed out, nervous, so of course he had an outsized emotional reaction. And of course Jon, who is a normal person with a normal life who probably has sex with guys all the time, whose family probably all know he's gay, or bisexual maybe? But the point is, of course Jon didn't react the way Favs did. It makes sense, he tells himself.

After the convention, after they officially get the nomination, after Favs gets to watch the next President of the United States deliver words he wrote (well, some of them) to the Democratic National Convention and get a fucking ovation, they all go out and get completely fucking wasted. Everyone is thrilled, and Favs is thrilled, too. He's so happy, happy to shout enthusiastically with Alyssa about how great things are and tell Dan to cheer the fuck up for a night and cheer enthusiastically as Tommy shotguns a beer with the efficiency and professionalism he brings to most things. He's so happy that when Tommy corners him while they're waiting for a cab and asks him - with the exaggerated concern of someone very drunk - why he's been so miserable lately, Favs actually tells him, and tries to laugh it off.

He's less happy the next morning when Tommy, squinting at him through his hangover, tells him, seriously, that he's glad Favs trusts him enough to talk to him about that kind of thing, and also, if Favs ever needs a wingman when he wants to pick up a guy, he should definitely tell Tommy.

"Thanks, Tom." Favs is touched, although it's kind of hard to tell from how hard his head's hurting. "But I think I'll - you know, the campaign ..." he trails off. "I'll probably stick with what works," he concludes, and Tommy nods, and pats him on the shoulder, and gets him a glass of water.

By the time they win, and everyone moves back to DC from wherever they've been campaigning, and they're establishing their transition team, and Favs is thinking about how he's going to have to hire some people, he's over Jon, he thinks. It was - a misunderstanding, an embarrassing one, but he's fine now. He doesn't even think about it much. How hung up can he be on a guy he slept with one time? It's fine, so he goes out and gets laid, has some fun, dates a couple of women he really likes, is fine. Is good. He works for the next President of the United States. Things are good.

Then, like an idiot, he gets drunk in December and does something really fucking dumb. And after he's been raked over the coals, they put him and Tommy by the conference phone waiting for a couple people from the Clinton campaign to call. "See if you can come up with something funny that will defuse the situation," Axe says, before patting Favs on the shoulder. 

"Yeah, of course," Favs says, but when Axe leaves he slumps over, kicking the table. "Fuck," he says, and idly starts googling the people on the conference call. Reines he knows. Lovett's name sounds vaguely familiar, Favs thinks he was a writer on the Clinton campaign, but - he starts an image search to figure out if he's met the guy before.

Oh. 

Fuck.

*

The conference call is maybe one of the most awkward moments of Lovett's life to date, which is a high bar. He's not even sure whether Favreau knows who he is. They hash out a strategy and Vietor and Reines hang up to let the two of them sort out the wording, and he thinks maybe he's gotten away with things, because Jon - Favreau, he corrects himself, impatiently - is professional and efficient, obviously motivated to produce a statement that lets him off the hook as smoothly as possible and equally obviously deeply embarrassed. Lovett manages to produce a reasonable facsimile of his professional persona, adding a joke to the statement and squeezing one into the conversation that actually gets a laugh out of Favreau, and when they have something they're happy for Reines to email off he gets ready to hang up and go get a stiff drink. 

Before he can manage it, though, Favreau says, "Hey - this is probably out of line but - uh, why didn't you call me?"

Shit; he hasn't gotten away with it after all. Lovett opens his mouth, closes it again, tries to think of something to say, panics, and can't manage to say anything before Favreau speaks again.

"Sorry, you probably - never mind. Whatever. It doesn't matter anyway, not like I - yeah."

Not like I care, Lovett fills in mentally, and is pissed. "We were working for opposing candidates in a horrible primary contest."

"So what?"

"So we're basically the Montagues and the Capulets right now and we all know how that ended. Your campaign never missed an opportunity to shit on mine, if you recall." 

"Like your campaign didn't do the same," Favreau says. "So you, what, knew who I was the entire time? I was good enough to fuck but not good enough to call?"

"Actually I didn't realise till I saw you the next day, hanging around with your boss and the blond guy," Lovett snaps. "You didn't exactly look like you were waiting for my call."

"Well, I was," Favreau says, curtly, and hangs up before Lovett can say anything at all.

*

That answers that, Favs thinks, crushing the last of - whatever, the tiny flame of hope that he'd let kindle when he saw Lovett's picture pop up like that and realised who he'd be talking to. He goes home and gets wasted in the privacy of his own apartment. The next morning Tommy brings him a coffee and gives him a serious look, but Favs can't bring himself to tell him anything at all.

*

Lovett's not going to put in an application for the White House speechwriting gig. Sure, they say it's anonymised, but that's probably bullshit, and even if it's true, they're not going to hire him when they find out who he is. For one thing, the Obama guys still fucking hate the Clinton guys, and secondly, Favreau isn't going to hire a guy who fucked him once, someone who could tell everyone they worked with that he slept with guys, someone who didn't call him back when - apparently - he'd wanted that.

He's mentally replayed Favreau saying, "Well, I was," and hanging up on him more times than he cares to admit, going round on possible interpretations, imagining the emphasis in different places. Lovett's pretty sure, though, that if there ever really was a time Favreau wanted him to call - if he wasn't just saying that to end the conversation with a sense of the moral high ground - that time must be long over now. And Favreau works in the White House, after all.

So he's not going to put in an application. He's pretty sure about that right up until he emails to get the application details, and he's still sure that he's not actually going to write this test speech. He's sure about that right the way through till he gets on a bus to New York and starts writing.

*

Favs narrows it down to two drafts before he takes a look at the names. They're both good, but one is his sneaky favourite. The draft is unpolished, but it gets Obama's voice right, draws out all the right policy ideas, and doesn't neglect the narrative. It's also funny. He'll wait for the interview, he decides, but he really likes this one.

Then he checks the names. His favourite draft is by Jon Lovett.

At this point he doesn't know why he's surprised. Yes, sure, of course the universe is going to keep rubbing it in. DC's a small town; it's not like the pool of young Democratic speechwriters is so enormous he could expect to avoid someone for ever. On the other hand, he thinks, getting a little more pissed, it doesn't make sense that Lovett would even apply for this job. Favs didn't know who wrote the draft, but Lovett for sure knew what he was applying for and who would be making the decisions.

He probably just wants to work in the White House. Well, tough, Favs thinks, and tosses his draft back on the pile.

Half an hour later Tommy sticks his head into the office. "Hey, you call the people on your shortlist yet?"

"Nah," Favs says. He's halfway through another abysmal draft he's read twice already, hoping to find something good in it. "Haven't quite narrowed it down yet."

"I thought you had the two good ones," Tommy says, coming in and leaning up against the doorframe. "Just call those ones."

"I'm not sure about one of them," Favs says.

"Which one?"

"The funny one."

"Come on, you loved that one. Just call them. You gotta delegate, man, the President gives a lot of speeches."

Favs spins around in his chair sullenly. "It's Jon Lovett's draft - you know, the Clinton guy?"

"Oh, yeah. He was cool about that whole thing," Tommy says. "He could have made a big deal of it and he didn't. You should bring him in."

Favs fishes the draft back off the stack, flips through it. It really is the best draft. "Yeah," he says.

*

Lovett doesn't really believe it when he gets the message to come in for an interview. He has to call back to check that he hasn't imagined it. It isn't Favreau at the other end of the line, just a harried assistant who confirms the time and date for him and then politely hangs up on him. He thinks about ringing back and cancelling, but in the end he doesn't. He's not sure why. Curiosity, maybe, or just knowing that he's never going to be offered the chance to work in the White House again, so fucking go for it, Lovett. He puts on his best suit - which is still not a great suit - wastes time staring at himself in the mirror like he's suddenly going to fix the haircut he's decided is stupid, gets disgusted with himself for procrastinating in such a pointless way, and forces himself out the door.

The interview is ... surprisingly non-awful. He interviews with Favreau and David Axelrod. Favreau acts completely normally, like he barely knows Lovett - which is true, Lovett reminds himself - and eventually Lovett stops expecting him to leap up and tell him to get the hell out and not stop to talk to anyone on the way. It's like that tension had been taking up all of Lovett's nerves about the interview; when that disperses, he suddenly feels relaxed and almost confident. He makes Favreau and Axelrod laugh, nails a couple of answers, and talks confidently about Obama's speech style and policy direction. He's feeling weirdly good when the interview ends, right up until Favreau says, "I'll walk you out."

"Fine, great," he says, but feels his nerves ratcheting up again.

Favs leads him out of the building in silence; glancing sideways, Lovett catches Favreau looking at him out of the corner of his eye. They both look away when their eyes meet.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" Favreau says as they exit.

Here it is. "Actually, how about we don't? It's not like I don't already know what you're going to say."

Favreau sighs. "Look, Lovett -"

"I said no," Lovett says. "I get it. Actually, no - why did you even bring me in? Why torture me like this? You're obviously not going to hire me, so just - fuck off." He ducks his head down, preparing to storm off in the direction of the Metro.

"What? No," Favreau says, and actually swings around to stand in front of Lovett, grabbing his arm. "That's not what I was going to say at all," he says. "I just wanted to say, if you do get hired, you don't need to worry about - you know."

Lovett shakes him off. "No, I don't know," he says. "I don't need to worry about you beating me up in the corridors if I happen to mention we slept together once? Because you don't have to worry, I'm not that kind of asshole."

" _No_ ," Favreau says, looking horrified. "Of course you wouldn't - I wouldn't care -"

"Oh really," says Lovett, "Not at all?" and watches with a sense of bitter satisfaction as Favreau looks torn. "It's all right," he says, tired. "Your secret is safe with me."

"That's not what I - I wasn't worried about that." Favreau's brow is furrowed; this level of emotional conversation is obviously difficult for him. "I wanted you to know," he says, with obvious effort, "that if you take the job - if we offer it to you - I'm not going to, like. Harass you."

"Right, right, no homophobic bullying, we covered that," Lovett says.

"No," Favreau says, doggedly. "I mean, I wouldn't try to - hit on you or anything. I understand that you aren't interested in - what I was interested in, and that's fine. It won't affect your work in any way."

He. What? "What you were interested in?" Lovett parrots. What is even happening right now?

Favreau winces. "Come on, Lovett," he says. "I know I came on pretty strong, and you weren't into it, and I'm sorry, and you won't have to worry about it any more. We can just be friends. Coworkers. That's all I wanted to say."

"Friends," Lovett says, dazed. "Coworkers. Right."

*

Favs calls a couple of references, including someone who knows both Lovett and the other candidate, and generally does his due diligence, but really, he's made up his mind, and Axe agrees, so. He hires Lovett. It's fine, he tells himself. It'll be fine.

And it is fine, really. Lovett fits in well, moving in with Tommy and what feels like half of the junior staff. He makes friends and allies. He lasts about a week of wearing suits before he starts arriving in sweatpants and putting his suit on only in dire circumstances. And he acts completely normally around Favs, which is. Fine. Good.

Favs is not acting so normally. He's trying, he's doing his best, but he keeps turning around and catching a glimpse of Lovett's face and remembering. Remembering what Lovett looked like on the bed beneath him. Remembering what he looked like between Favs' legs, pressing a finger into him. Remembering the tender way Lovett kissed him afterwards, when Favs was shaking with the newness of it all. Remembering how Lovett touched him.

It's not okay, he knows it's not okay, but he can't seem to help it. So he starts avoiding Lovett as much as he can - which means avoiding Tommy too, and the rest of the gang - and going home by himself, not going out, not doing much. It's not much fun. But Favs promised Lovett it wouldn't be a problem, and he's not going to be a liar and a creep. 

He thinks he's hiding it well until he comes up behind Lovett and Tommy one day where they're eating lunch, heads together. He's moving quietly, but has his mouth open to say something when he hears his own name, and freezes, guiltily.

"I don't know, man," Tommy's saying. "He had some kind of fling with a guy during the campaign, and I think it really fucked him up, you know?"

Favs, hating himself for being a creep, sees Lovett stiffen. 

"With a guy?" Lovett's tone is casual, but Favs can see the tense line of his back. "I didn't know he, uh."

"I didn't either, until he was all, like, heartbroken, and I got him drunk and made him tell me why." Tommy forks up a mouthful of potato salad, and says, indistinctly, "I thought he was doing better for a while in there, but now, I don't know."

Lovett mumbles something, still looking tense, and Favs, abruptly sick of this, swings the door shut behind him with a bang like he's just arrived. Lovett jumps, looking around; Tommy glances up and kicks a chair out for him, looking completely relaxed.

"Hey," he says. "Did you see the latest Pats news?"

Fucking press corps dishonesty, Favs thinks, meanly, but fakes an interested noise and sits, letting the sound of Lovett energetically objecting to football talk wash over him. 

*

Lovett doesn't sleep the night after Tommy casually drops the revelation that sure, he knows that Favs sleeps with men, and also, Favs has been heartbroken since the campaign. It doesn't change anything, he tells himself. Favs is still his boss. Favs is still White House senior staff. 

It does, though. He finally admits it to himself at 3 in the morning. If Tommy knows - if Favs has admitted it to other people, even to one other person, while drunk - that's the end of Lovett's last excuse. Favs' feelings for him were sincere. Lovett's avoided thinking about it, but that's been clear for a while. But Favs telling Tommy makes it real, Lovett thinks. It makes it a possibility.

It means that Lovett's the one getting in the way of them being together. 

Face the facts, he tells himself. The guy is into you - was into you? Is into you? - and you blew him off.

You work together, half of his brain says. You work _for him_ in the White House, and let's be real, he's seen you up close and personal for weeks now. Chances are, even if he did like you before, he doesn't now.

The other half of his brain is much less worried about professional decorum. It presents him with a few choice memories of Jon naked on the bed in front of him, Jon leaning towards him to kiss him, Jon's voice cracking as he told Lovett he'd been waiting for him to call. Don't be such a chickenshit, that side of his brain says. Don't you think this could be good?

The thing is, Lovett really _does_.

*

Lovett's kind of twitchy at work the next day. This isn't unusual, so Favs doesn't think much of it until the end of the day, when Lovett, who has apparently been waiting for him to leave, packs up and follows him out the door with an alacrity that has to be planned. Favs feels a little sick, and mentally curses Tommy. 

"Hey," Lovett says, "Can we talk?"

It's Favs' turn to wince, but he steels himself. "Sure," he says. "Let's -" he doesn't want to have this conversation in public. Or at work. "- go back to mine?" Would Lovett be comfortable at his place? "Or yours, yours is fine." 

"Yours is closer," Lovett says - fine, Favs thinks, no audience for his humiliation - and is quiet while they make their way to Favs' apartment. 

Favs drops his bag on the floor and shoves the door shut behind him. "Look," he says, turning to face Lovett, determined to get it over with, "I know what Tommy said, but -"

"This isn't about Tommy," Lovett says. He's - whoa - he's standing closer than Favs thought he was, and getting closer. "This is -" and he leans up and kisses Favs.

Favs flails for a second, but - he can't help it, he feels a familiar heat surge through him, a heat he's remembered over and over again, and his arms drop down to Lovett's waist and he pulls him closer, helplessly. 

Lovett breaks the kiss minutes later and pulls back, just a little - he can't get any further, because both Favs' arms are around him. "Sorry, I meant to, you know, talk, but - I've been wanting to do that for a while."

"You have?" says Favs. He feels completely dumbstruck, can't stop looking at Lovett's mouth.

Lovett screws up his face like he's about to do something really unpleasant. "Look," he says, "I'm sorry."

"Okay," says Favs, dumbly, and leans in to kiss him again. He doesn't know what's happening, what Lovett's apologising for, but - maybe this makes him an idiot, a hypocrite, or a loser - he'll take it for as long as Lovett is here.

Lovett gets a hand in front of Favs' face, thwarting him. "Hey," Favs says.

"No, sorry, we can get back to that in a second, but this is important," Lovett says, and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I didn't call you," he says. "I was afraid that you couldn't possibly feel as much as I felt, and I was afraid that you'd never want what I want, but. I was wrong, and I'm sorry, and I really like you." 

He's red by the time he finishes the speech; Favs wants to touch his cheeks, find out if they're as warm as they look. Except he also wants to - 

"How could you not know how I felt? I really thought I'd been clear about that."

"You had, but." Favs sees Lovett's adam's apple bob as he swallows. "You know, we were mortal enemies, and also I have this rule about straight guys, and - but. It doesn't matter now." He wriggles, goes to extricate himself from Favs' arms. "If you don't … feel that way about me any more, I understand, and I can - go, or -"

"No," Favs says, tightening his grip. "No, I do," and he watches Lovett's face clear before he bends to kiss him. 

Lovett leans up on his tiptoes to meet the kiss; it's sweet, Favs finds himself thinking. That's not something he's thought about Lovett since he's gotten to know him at work, but it's something he remembers from the last time they kissed, in Lovett's hotel room in Des Moines, Favs so nervous but so sure, at the same time, that it would be fine - that Lovett would take care of him. 

He wants Lovett to feel that way now. He wants him to feel like Favs is going to look after him - like he's not going to hurt him - like he's never going to let him go, and he pulls away, just a little, to tell Lovett so.

Lovett makes a hurt noise, draws him down again, hands digging into Favs' back. Favs can't get close enough, takes the hand cupping Lovett's cheek and runs it into his hair, drags the other one down to Lovett's waist and then, daringly, to cup Lovett's ass, take a handful of it and squeeze. Lovett bites his lip in response; Favs laughs, wincing, into the kiss, and then shudders as Lovett, in retaliation, brings his hand forward, wriggles it between their bodies, cups Favs' dick through his slacks. 

"Fuck," Favs says, breaking the kiss to pant into Lovett's ear. "Fuck - Lovett -"

"Let's go to bed," Lovett says, and shoves him backwards. 

They stagger towards Favs' bedroom. Favs starts stripping off his clothes as he goes, dropping his coat on the floor, shrugging out of his jacket, and makes a discontented noise when he gets to the bedroom and Lovett's still fully clothed. "Get naked," he says, but can't stop himself reaching for Lovett anyway, kissing him again, getting in the way. 

"You're a pain," Lovett says, and pushes him onto the bed. "You're always gonna be like this, huh? You just can't get enough of me." 

He's joking, trying for sarcasm, but Favs has a lump in his throat all of a sudden. "I can't," he says, hoarsely. "I really can't," and Lovett wobbles as he shoves his jeans down around his ankles and kicks them off, stumbling over to the bed to land clumsily on top of Favs. 

Favs remembers thinking, last time, that Lovett was perfect, and he feels a surge of the same feeling now. He's the perfect size and shape, pale and small and just right for Favs to wrestle him over and down onto the bed, to press him into the mattress, to pin his arms above his head and say, "Stay there."

Lovett stares back at him. "Are you - what are you -"

"This might suck," Favs tells him, "But I - I wanna," and he starts kissing his way down Lovett's chest. He sucks kisses into Lovett's neck, above his nipple, rubs his scruff into Lovett's belly to make Lovett writhe, and then he takes Lovett's dick in one hand and presses his mouth to the top of it.

They never got to cocksucking last time. Favs is completely unprepared for it - the heavy softness of it, how Lovett feels alive in his mouth, how Favs can feel him getting harder and bigger as he sucks. He's shocked by how quiet Lovett is, just the rough sounds of him drawing in breath. It doesn't taste like he thought it would, either; it's like skin, mostly, salty near the tip. He sucks a little harder, chasing the taste, and glances upwards; Lovett, clinging to the pillows above his head, is staring at him, eyes wide and face flushed. 

Favs bends his head back to his task. He's too ambitious at first, chokes a little going too deep, but eventually he finds a rhythm, bobbing his head in time with the motions of his hand on Lovett's cock as Lovett's hips twitch and he makes noises that make Favs flush and feel powerful. He feels confident enough that he reaches up and drags one of Lovett's hands down to rest on his hair. 

Lovett doesn't push; he brushes gently over the bristles of Favs' buzzcut, runs his thumb along Favs' cheekbone, then cups the back of Favs' skull. It's so tender Favs thinks if he didn't already have tears gathering in the corners of his eyes he would just from that, just from that unexpected sweetness, and he redoubles his attentions until Lovett says, voice hoarse, "Jon, you need to pull off now." 

He does, and Lovett's hand joins Favs' on his dick even as he's pulling Favs up towards him to kiss him, urgently. Stroking is awkward at this angle, but Favs does his best and it's only a few seconds before Lovett is gasping into his mouth and bucking his hips, and Favs feels warmth splash between them. 

"Fuuuuuck," Lovett says after a moment, on a long, long breath.

Favs is surprised at how relieved he is to hear Lovett talking again. He presses his face into Lovett's neck, bites there a little, mumbles, "Was that good?"

Lovett's hand comes up to scratch at his hair. "Was that good?" he repeats, semi-mockingly. " 'Was that good', he says - yes, Jon, it was fucking good." He tugs Favs away from him, wriggles until he can push at his shoulders; Favs goes willingly, letting Lovett push him onto his back. "It was so good," Lovett tells him, seriously. "And now I'm going to show you exactly how good." He leans in, kisses Favs thoroughly, and Favs flushes with the realisation that he hasn't come yet and is still fucking turned on. He thrusts up into Lovett, and Lovett laughs into the kiss, drags himself away, and squirms down to suck Favs' cock in his mouth. 

It's obviously not Lovett's first time doing this. Not that it matters; the sight of him down there, between his legs, has Favs so hot he barely lasts a minute, enough that Lovett's still laughing as he spits Favs' come out into a tissue and rolls back over to snuggle into him. 

"Laugh it up," Favs says, but he's laughing, too. He doesn't give a shit, to be honest, can't be embarrassed at all, because Lovett's here, with him, lifting his arm up to slide under it, making a face at him and lecturing him about how it's polite to warn the person sucking your dick before you come all over them. 

"Sorry," he says, contritely. "I'll get it right next time." 

He leans in to kiss Lovett, sweet as he can, and feels a warmth in him when Lovett purses his lips and just says, "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Favs says.

"Like - you know what," Lovett says, but he's smiling, making a face like he's trying to frown but can't manage it. 

"Nope," says Favs, "no idea," and tucks his head down onto Lovett's chest, content.

*

Two weeks later, Lovett's half-awake, sleepy on Sunday morning, watching Jon start to wake up. "Hey," he says, when Jon's eyes flick open, and leans in to kiss him. 

"Gross," Jon mumbles into his mouth, but kisses back, sleepy and soft. 

"I'm starving," Lovett says, pulling back. "Wake up so we can go find food." 

"Five more minutes," Jon says, eyes slipping closed. 

Lovett purses his lips, pretends to be annoyed - useless, because Jon's not even looking at him, but it's fun. "Fine, fine," he says. "I'll just lie here, getting hollow with hunger, trying not to faint."

Jon reaches over and pats him clumsily on the face. "Mmhmm," he says. Lovett, despite himself, grins. 

"Hey," he says, a few minutes later, after he's checked his phone and blackberry and texted his mom back from the night before. "Tommy said something weird to me the other night."

"Yeah?" Jon rolls over, cracks a big yawn. "I'm awake," he says, dishonestly.

"Sure you are," Lovett says. "I was sneaking in the other night - you know, after we -" he watches with pleasure as Jon blushes, remembering exactly what they'd done that night. "I bumped into Tommy on the way to bed, and he said, 'How's Jon?' " 

Jon's eyes blink open to meet Lovett's. He looks … nervous, Lovett thinks. "What did you say?"

Lovett glances down at his hands. "I said you were good. Cause, you know, you were pretty good when I left."

Jon gets pinker. "I was," he says. "What did Tommy say after that?"

"Nothing," Lovett says, remembering Tommy standing by the bathroom door in the dark, watching him inscrutably. "He just said, good, and good night." He rolls over to look at Favs. "I think he knows, though. How do you, you know, _feel_ about that?"

Favs is quiet for a second; Lovett can't keep looking at him, has to look down at his hands and up at the window, glancing back at and then away from Favs. 

"I feel good about it," Favs says, eventually. "Yeah. It's good."

Lovett feels warmth bloom a little. "You sure? Because, you know. I know this is a big deal for you. I can walk it back, maybe."

"Lovett," Favs says, looking confident and a little amused, "I am one hundred percent sure," and he leans in, cups his hand around Lovett's cheek, and kisses him.


End file.
